Mad About You

willing herself not to watch him pull away from the curb, but she couldn't resist. Jasmine tiptoed into the dark living room and fingered aside the curtain, smiling as he backed up the truck, its bulky shape nearly outlined with tiny safety lights. After some tight maneuvering, he managed to turn the truck around on the narrow street and pull away, the aged vehicle coughing and sputtering.
    She bit her lower lip and told herself the events of the last few hours meant nothing. When she realized she was holding the copper lamp with a white-knuckled grip, she scoffed at herself and unwrapped her new treasure. She set the lamp beneath a spotlight on the mantel, admiring its lustrous finish. On impulse, she lifted the tiny lid, then stepped back in amazement as butterflies burst through the opening and fluttered toward the ceiling. Somehow, the insects from Ladden's store must have been trapped inside.
    Incredulous, Jasmine gaped as they spread throughout her living room, then she laughed through her fingers. When Ladden's easy smile appeared in her mind, confusion, excitement, and wonder crowded her chest. She dropped onto her leather couch in the dark and hugged a cushion under her chin as she watched the butterflies gravitate to the spotlight over the mantel.

    * * *

    Ladden waited until he guided his big, rickety truck through the gates of the posh community before he allowed himself an ear-to-ear grin. He pounded the steering wheel and whooped as he pulled onto the expressway. But after a few minutes of driving, he pictured the groomed landscaping in front of Jasmine's expensive townhouse, looked around the smelly cab of his old truck, and plummeted back to earth.
    Jasmine dated the governor, and even if McDonald didn't win reelection, he would still be a powerful man. And she was a successful woman in her own right, with a thriving business and a nice home in the most plush area of town. She'd have no use for a man whose social circle rarely extended past family and neighbors. In a word, she was... untouchable—to him, at least.
    A radio ad to vote for Trey McDonald sounded over the aged dashboard speakers. Ladden switched the station and sighed. "I wish Jasmine could see how crazy I am about her," he muttered. "Before it's too late."

Chapter Five

    DESPITE THE MIXED FEELINGS raging through his head and heart the night before, Ladden woke with a smile on his face. A full-body stretch still left room to spare in his knotty pine sleigh bed. He grabbed a pillow and rolled to his side, imagining Jasmine lying next to him, her dark hair splayed over the white pillowcase. Then he forced himself to forget his musings. A casual ride home did not a relationship make.
    He swung his feet to the pale wood floor and scrubbed his hands over his face. Wriggling his toes against the smooth, cool planks, he pondered the addition of the antique rug to his bedroom. He glanced around the comfortably cluttered room, thinking the carpet might actually lend some sense of order to his eclectic collection of furnishings. And it might give him some incentive to put up a curtain or two, he thought, frowning at the bare windows. On an inspired Sunday afternoon several months ago, he had hung the old metal rods he'd bought because he liked the primitive fish finials, but he'd never gotten around to hanging curtains. The view into his backyard was too nice to cover up, anyway, he thought as he pulled himself to his feet and walked over to the window in his boxers.
    Okay, so maybe the daffodils needed to be thinned—they were looking a bit wild—and maybe the roses could use a trim—they were buckling the wall trellises—but it made for a private little paradise he'd enjoyed creating over the past seven years he'd lived in the Glenhayden house. He saluted his lonely looking hammock and made a silent promise to relax this weekend, once the store was back in order.
    The thought of the mysterious earthquake and the damage it had wrought dampened his spirits somewhat. If he hadn't experienced other tremors growing up in Sacramento, he might give credence to other explanations... but he knew an earthquake when he felt one, and he was going to stick by his story, no matter how unbelievable it seemed.
    He showered and shaved with less speed than usual, picturing Jasmine's golden skin and black braid vividly enough to cause his body to harden. After some teeth-grinding and cold water, he left the bathroom, pulled on a pair of worn jeans and a